Title: In the Closet

Rating: G

Characters: England, America, Canada, mentions of France

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, the concept behind Hetalia, nor the countries themselves. This is a fanwork and not for profit.

Warnings: None.

A/N: America is modeled after my boss' devil child. Didn't quite go the way I intended but cute anyway.

"Shh!"

"But…"

"S'okay." The boy patted the other encouragingly, not noticing when the smaller twin stumbled from his gesture. "England won't notice."

The smaller twin fidgeted, clutching his bear to his chest, "But stealing is wrong."

The other twin shrugged and gave a small grin, "Not if you don't get caught."

The bigger twin turned his attention to the high counter with the tip of his tongue sticking out in concentration. Nodding, he quickly scampered to the table and picked up a chair. Despite his small size, he easily hefted the chair so he didn't have to drag it and make noise. He set it down soundlessly, a gesture of practice, and clambered up to grab the cookie jar. His small palms wrapped around the lid and he pulled out four cookies. He handed two down to his partner in crime.

Canada stood awkwardly holding the cookies in one hand and dangling the bear in the crook of the other. His little face was torn with uncertainty and he looked at the cookie like it might bite him. He knew it wouldn't; after all, papa France had made it, not England.

America jumped down near-silent and quickly placed the chair back at the table. His face was split in a huge remorseless grin and he stuffed both cookies in his mouth. Chewing with his mouth open and his blue eyes squinted in pure bliss at the sweet treat, he hardly noticed that his brother was staring behind him.

"And just what do you think you are doing?" a frosty voice clipped from the doorway.

Canada promptly dropped his cookies from his nerveless fingers. England was scary. His big, bushy eyebrows were scrunched up menacingly and his green eyes were glaring holes in the back of America's blond head.

Guilelessly, America turned around, mouth empty but face covered in crumbs, "Eating cookies."

"And didn't I tell you that those were for after dinner?"

"Yeah, but we were hungry now!" America argued and Canada squeaked.

"We?" England asked, taking a step forward. His big boots crunched heavily on the wooden floor and Canada yelped. He dropped his bear and scrambled around the bigger nation. He had been bad. England, apparently not expecting this, yelled and stomped after him, "Well, you two, you should know better!"

Canada bolted into the closest closet and shut the door. He shivered, afraid of the dark, but mostly afraid that he had been so bad that England would get rid of him. He clutched the clothing hanging in there blindly and curled up into a little ball. He had been so bad that Papa France got rid of him and now England would too. England wasn't too mean to him… but he liked America better and… and… maybe America was better. America was strong and cheerful and fearless.

A small sob escaped from his throat and he rocked slowly wishing he hadn't dropped his bear. Rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, he tried to melt into the clothing in the closet. He could smell the leather from the shoes and the cottony scent from the cloth and it was comforting. Slowly his little sobs turned into hiccups and his blue eyes started to drop. His tummy rumbled but just thinking of the pilfered cookies wound him up again.

Slowly the door creaked open and he inched away from the light. He expected a big hand to come down and catch him by the collar. After all, he had been so bad and he needed to be punished.

Closing his eyes, he huddled down, and was very surprised with something soft and squishy landed on his head. Cracking an eye, he stared into a black, blank button. His bear. He squeaked and grabbed the stuffed animal to his chest.

America shoved the door open and crawled into the closet with him. He pulled the door shut so there was only a crack. He put an arm around Canada's shoulder awkwardly and stared into his face. "Why're you in here?"

"Cause I was bad."

America cocked his head, "Eh, England's not that mad. 'Sides, France gave those cookies to you."

"B-but, he said to wait and I didn't. And—and I…" Canada gasped and gulped out the word, "Stole them."

"I got them down." America pointed out, clueless. He clearly couldn't see how big a transgression it was to steal.

Canada hadn't known his brother long, but he knew it was a lost cause trying to explain to him why it was bad. Why he was bad. America just wouldn't get it. And now he'd be sent away for being a bad boy. His lip wobbled again and he buried his face in the bear's head.

America looked over in confusion and tried to pat Canada's shoulder with his hand. "You're not bad. You're good."

"Really?" Canada risked a quick glance up at his brother. America was nodding and patting. "But… I was bad and England will give me away like Papa France did."

"You're the bestest brother a hero could have ever." America added enthusiastically giving him a hug with both arms. "You didn't blame me or nothing. So England can't do that."

Canada gave a shy smile and hugged back.

The door creaked open and England loomed over them. Canada hid behind his brother and peered out fearfully. America looked up and balled his fists making sure Canada was behind him.

"You're not getting him." America declared, "He's my bestest brother ever, and you can't take him!"

"What in the world are you going on about America?" England asked looking perplexed with his eyebrow arched slightly. He looked between the two and sighed, "I'm sorry I yelled at you, Canada. But, honestly, you should know better. What has France been teaching you?"

America, satisfied, took out a cookie and broke it in half. He started munching on one half while offering the other towards Canada.

England's face went bright red and Canada blindly shoved America towards the closet door. Then he shut it and smiled into his bear.

France loved him. America loved him. And England wasn't going get rid of him.

Giggling softly, he brought the half of the cookie that America had shoved at him while flying out the door into his mouth.